


War of Hearts

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent & Derek Hale Friendship, Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Shadowhunters TV Fusion, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Spoilers, Episode: s01e12 Malec, Erica Reyes & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Parabatai Bond, Questioning Derek Hale, Shadowhunter Derek Hale, Warlock Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” Stiles started. He smiled at him, taking in the sight of the Shadowhunter who saved his life. “Stiles Stilinski.”</p><p>“I’m Derek … Hale.” Derek let out a breath as he looked at Stiles. His words stuttered from his lips as he tried to think about what to say. “Um, I think ... ” He released a minor laugh.</p><p>“Derek Hale,” Stiles thoughtfully stated his name, smiling at Derek.</p><p>“I think we should,” Derek lost his words as he gestured towards the stairs.</p><p>“Should what?” Stiles playfully asked as he took a step towards Derek. He arched his eyebrows, smiling when Derek released a small laugh.</p><p>“Join the others,” Derek softly stated, clearing his throat.</p><p>Stiles nodded, gesturing towards the stairs. “After you.” He smiled as he followed after Derek, interested in getting to know this new Shadowhunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> As promised! The fabled Malec!Sterek fic so many of you guys wanted! I hope you enjoy it and have all the feels. The scenes are similar/some of the dialogue is the same. I tried to interweave it as best I could.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it. As in the tags, there are spoilers for _Shadowhunters_ , leading up to episode 12 "Malec." I hope you enjoy this, as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3

Stiles dodged the Shadowhunter’s blade, his eyes flickering their feline yellow. The magic pulsed through his hands, waves of energy flying from his fingertips to strike into the chest of the Shadowhunter.

An arrow flew by Stiles’ side, striking the Shadowhunter in the chest. Stiles turned to look at arrow’s owner. He recognized the Shadowhunter from earlier in the club. He used a flick of his wrist to knock the other Shadowhunter unconscious. He saw the small impressed smile pulling at the archer Shadowhunter’s lips.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” Stiles started. He smiled at him, taking in the sight of the Shadowhunter who saved his life. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“I’m Derek … Hale.” Derek let out a breath as he looked at Stiles. His words stuttered from his lips as he tried to think about what to say. “Um, I think ... ” He released a minor laugh.

“Derek Hale,” Stiles thoughtfully stated his name, smiling at Derek.

“I think we should,” Derek lost his words as he gestured towards the stairs.

“Should what?” Stiles playfully asked as he took a step towards Derek. He arched his eyebrows, smiling when Derek released a small laugh.

“Join the others,” Derek softly stated, clearing his throat.

Stiles nodded, gesturing towards the stairs. “After you.” He smiled as he followed after Derek, interested in getting to know this new Shadowhunter. His eyes constantly sought out Derek, watching the way he sat off to the side as the others spoke. He nodded in vague agreement, knowing that they weren’t going to give up until they had Scott’s memories back.

“I understand,” Stiles finally stated. “And I have a way to get those memories back,” he confirmed. “Handsome, get your team together.”

Scott looked at Allison who gave him a confirming nod. He made a move to pass Stiles, only to stop when Stiles’ hand against his chest stopped him.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Stiles explained before looking at Derek. He gestured a hand towards Derek, “I was talking to him.”

Derek couldn’t help the small twitch in the corner of his lips, an unfamiliar smug satisfaction falling over him in waves. He looked away from Stiles to catch Cora looking at him. He gave her a soft shrug, making sure his face was once again in its neutral scowl.

Stiles saw the spark of interest Derek had when looking at him, something inside of him wanting to know more—to see more—of this Shadowhunter.

~*~

“So,” Cora sighed as she helped clean and store the weapons to check inventory.

“So?” Derek echoed in question.

“Stiles,” Cora answered.

“Stiles?” Derek questioned, looking up at Cora.

“What about Stiles?”

“What about him?”

“Stop parroting me.”

“Actually ask me a question then,” Derek countered. “What about Stiles?” He asked, not caring about Cora’s original motive for starting this conversation.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cora began as she inspected the weapons. “The fact that you went all doe eyed when he spoke to you—”

“I did not go doe eyed,” Derek growled, snatching the arrow out of Cora’s hand.

“You’re right. You had hearts in your eyes,” Cora smiled at Derek’s flustered glare. “And then you freaked and ran away when you were forced to sacrifice a memory of the person you love most and _nothing_ showed up.”

Derek remained silent, his shoulders becoming rigid. It had scared him when it became his turn to sacrifice a memory—for _Scott’s memories_ , of all people. He had thought it would have been Cora. Or Allison, their parabatai bond having reached its strongest in recent months. But everyone have a valued loved one—everyone but Derek.

Derek was confused when he saw the older woman in Stiles’ memory, clearly someone of significant importance in the Warlock’s life when his normally playful features soured as tears brimmed his eyes. He would have given anything to have had _someone_.

“Look, I’m not surprised, Derek,” Cora started as she moved to hug Derek, pressing her forehead against his shoulder blade. “You’re cut off. You’ve always been cut off, but that doesn’t mean you don’t love us.

“Yeah,” Derek bitterly answered. “It only means I’m incapable of loving even my family.”

“You’re incapable of loving yourself,” Cora’s voice muffled against Derek’s back.

Derek yanked himself out of Cora’s arms, turning to glare at her. “I told you—”

“And I told you it doesn’t matter,” Cora quickly stated. “You think I’m going to look at you any differently—love you any differently—if you suddenly admit that you’re not _just_ attracted to women?”

“I am attracted to women,” Derek snapped.

“You’re bisexual, Derek,” Cora huffed. “That’s not a crime. Look at Stiles!”

“He’s not one of us. He’s an Downworlder,” Derek countered.

“Oh, I forgot, all Downworlders are criminals—defects, right?” Cora seethed. “You’re being pathetic.”

“It’s my life, Cora,” Derek yelled. “ _My life_. Not yours, or mom’s. For once in my life, stop trying to push me.”

Cora opened her mouth to argue before she stopped herself. “Fine,” she finally recanted. “Fine, I’m sorry.”

Derek muttered a curse as he turned to pace some.

“I am,” Cora firmly stated. She moved forward, grabbing Derek by the arms to stop him—to force him to face her. “You’re my brother, and I _love you_. I will always love you. And for _once_ in your life, I want you to do the right thing, and be _happy_.”

Derek bit his tongue, knowing that no matter how he argued with Cora, she would always be the one to push. Cora was the one that refused to let Derek run away, and he hated and loved her for it. Sometimes it was enough to just know that she was behind him, having his back no matter the situation. He pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly as he thought about the conversation he had with their parents. He wanted to protect Cora from having to face changing to be the suitable child their parents thought were proper. He felt his gut twist, knowing that despite Cora’s pushing for him to admit that he had an attraction towards men—towards Stiles—now he could never utter it. His family needed connections and a way to elevate their name once more—and Stiles wasn’t the solution.

There was never talk of sexuality, according to the Clave. There was heterosexual couples, their marriage and offspring often time testified to that. But then there were the people who fell outside the box the Clave has placed on individuals. There were the ones who were shunned, having shattered their family’s reputation by following their hearts.

Derek never dreamed of doing that to his parents, but he never imagined being married, either. But every time Cora pushed at him, Derek’s resolve to fight against his hopes and wishes crumbled a little more. Before their parents arrived, Derek was almost ready to just admit it--he liked men; he liked Stiles. But none of that mattered now. His family needed him--as his mother liked to remind him. Individual happiness meant nothing without familial happiness.

~*~

Stiles was on Derek’s mind all week. He thought about how Stiles’ skin heated up against his, the way his stomach tumbled when Stiles looked at him as if he was the only person that mattered in the world. There was something about the way Stiles flirted with him—it wasn’t childish or cruel, but genuinely interested.

When Allison called and asked Derek to head to Stiles’ apartment, he was skeptical. He knew it was a favor she was doing for Scott’s benefit. He felt the way Allison desired to help Scott, the pull on their parabatai bond causing Derek to warm up to Scott even though he didn’t want to. Part of Derek was afraid that Allison knew that he felt something for Stiles—that their flirtation with one another was starting to cross from playful into serious intentions.

Derek didn’t even know how he felt about the idea of dating _Stiles_ , let alone how he felt about men in general. He sighed, knowing that for a long time after his parabatai bond with Allison was burned into his hip, he thought that he was in love with her. He loved her—cared about her—as a sister, the same as Cora. It just became easier to accept that his platonic love for Allison could satisfy his family’s need for him to marry. He could love Allison, but knew deep down that he couldn’t love her the way she needed him to—the way she deserved.

But Stiles was different. He had cracked open Derek’s chest and looked inside, knowing exactly what he found there. The brightness of his smile stole Derek’s words away. The joy of his laughter replayed in Derek’s ears as he thought about ways to hear it once more. The warmth of his skin as they held hands lingered on Derek’s fingertips for hours after they separated. Stiles was different, and it was driving Derek insane.

Derek ran as fast as he could when he felt the influx of magic pouring from the apartment. He burst through the doors to find Scott hurrying with various vials, attempting to mix something together. He ran over to the couch, catching sight of an older man writhing through his unconscious state while Stiles knelt beside him. He recognized him as the Sheriff from their run in earlier.

Magic flowed through Stiles’ palm, healing the poison that pumped through John’s veins. He was blocking the poison from reaching John’s heart, preventing it from spreading further. He was growing weaker, his hands trembling as he tried to keep the magic from ripping through his own limbs.

“What’s happening?” Derek asked as he moved to kneel beside Stiles, setting his bow down.

“I’m trying to save his life,” Stiles answered, trying to focus on battling against the poison.

“What do you need me to do?” Derek asked, ready to do whatever Stiles needed.

“I need your energy,” Stiles quickly answered. “It will kickstart my magic—”

“Take what you need,” Derek immediately answered, slipping his hand into Stiles’, his arm moving to brace against Stiles’ back to guarantee that he stay focused.

Stiles’ magic suddenly flared, the light nearly blinding them before everything suddenly stopped. The Sheriff took a deep breath before relaxing, his body no longer struggling to live. Scott stuttered to a stop, coming over to the couch to inspect the Sheriff. Derek looked at Stiles, noticing how exhausted he looked.

Stiles stared at John, softly smiling to himself when he realized that it worked--Derek’s energy healed him. He was still holding Derek’s hand when he tried to stand, his legs suddenly buckling beneath his weight. He was ready to collide with the floor when instead, a pair of strong arms caught him, cradling him against their chest. He blinked up at Derek, looking at him as he remained in his arms, not wishing to move.

“You’re too weak to walk,” Derek commented, his eyes scanning Stiles’ face.

Stiles offered a shy nod, conscious of the way Derek propped him against him, his entire body plopped in Derek’s lap. He leaned his head against Derek’s shoulder, closing his eyes as he listened to the others entering the room in a flurry.

“We have the ingredients,” Allison offered.

“Stiles managed to heal him,” Scott answered, looking from the Sheriff to Stiles.

“Derek helped,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s chest, his body wanting nothing more than to sleep.

“Interrupting?” Cora’s voice sounded from the entrance.

“I’ll take him to bed,” Derek stated, moving to stand with Stiles in his arms, realizing that the warlock had fallen asleep.

“So soon,” Cora teased.

“Shut up,” Derek barked, easily shouldering her as he moved towards the bedroom. He made sure to get Stiles under the blankets, his skin already cold from the magic draining his strength away. He paused his movements, his eyes lingering on Stiles as he watched him sleep. He noted that Stiles didn’t look as if he had lived centuries, nor did he look as if he was the High Warlock of Beacon Hills. He sighed, pulling himself away from Stiles and his longing to stay.

~*~

The Sheriff woke up to a warm, heavy weight resting on his hand and forearm. He stirred some, his body aching from exhaustion. He turned his head to see familiarly unruly chestnut hair, ears decorated in jewelry. He reached his free hand up, running his hand through the hair in an attempt to flatten it. He fondly smiled when the hair refused to remain under control.

"Dad?" Stiles questioned, his voice raw and small as he stirred from his sleep, hopefully looking up at the Sheriff. He had woken up suddenly, overtaken by the will to be near his father. He snuck into the spare bedroom, sitting by his bedside until he fell asleep once more.

"You haven't called me that in a while," the Sheriff commented, a smile on his face. "I see it takes me being injured for you to start calling me dad again."

Stiles softly smiled as he took the Sheriff’s hand in his, moving to hug him. “I thought you were going to die.”

“You still got me, kiddo,” the Sheriff answered.

Stiles released a small, reassured laugh, smiling as he pulled away from the Sheriff. He wiped the tears away from his eyes. “I was really scared.”

“I know,” the Sheriff stated.

Stiles smiled at the Sheriff, resting his forehead against his hand as he held onto him. He took in a steadying breath, trying to find solace in the fact that his father was alive and well.

“Who’s the guy?” The Sheriff asked, a small smirk pulling at his lips when Stiles looked up at him. “The one that just walked passed the door two times.”

Stiles turned his head to catch a brief glimpse of Derek dodging out of the way and away from the hallway. He couldn’t help the warmth spreading through his stomach as he thought about Derek shying away.

“He seems interested,” the Sheriff commented.

“Stop it,” Stiles chastised.

“I’m only making a comment,” the Sheriff answered, leaning back into his pillows and smiling. “You should let him know you’re okay.”

“You just woke up,” Stiles argued.

“And I’ll be here when you get back,” the Sheriff replied.

That was how Derek came to be focusing on the couch, wiping the blood from the cushions with strained determination. He pretended that he didn’t hear Stiles enter the room, his footsteps drawing closer to him.

“You know, I could use magic for that,” Stiles offered as he came to stand by Derek.

“You’re tired,” Derek answered. “You could barely stand a while ago.”

“I’m better now,” Stiles answered. “I got a little rest … have you been cleaning this entire time?”

“The Sheriff lost a lot of blood,” Derek explained. He looked at Stiles when he realized that the Warlock had become unusually quiet. He stared up at Stiles, catching the telltale signs of guilt and worry--two things Derek had become very good at masking. “But he’ll be fine.”

Stiles looked at Derek, his small smile not quite reaching his eyes as he nodded. “He will be. He’s a strong person--especially for a human.”

“Human?” Derek’s eyebrows furrowed in question. “But Allison said he was a Downworlder … like you.”

Stiles sighed, moving towards the small bar in order to mix a drink. "He’s my father—not my biological father, but my father all the same," he explained. "I'll tell you about it one day, but I fear we'd need a great deal more alcohol, and time, for that conversation."

Derek nodded, respecting Stiles’ desire to not speak about it. “When you’re willing to,” he commented. “I know what it’s like to have people push.”

Stiles made a noise of agreement as he shook the shaker. He kept his eyes on the martini glass as he poured the liquid. “Thank you for coming, though. The Sheriff means a great deal to me. You’ve saved my life from a rogue Shadowhunter, and now you save my father. You keep racking up the favors.”

“I don’t expect anything,” Derek quickly answered. “That’s not why-- I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t … ”

Stiles paused, looking at Derek as he held two drinks in his hands. “If you didn’t …?”

“If I didn’t want to,” Derek uttered, the blush burning his cheeks.

Stiles hesitated before moving on. “I was lucky you agreed to my request.”

“Why _did_ you ask for me?” Derek questioned, turning to look at Stiles.

“I needed your help,” Stiles honestly answered, moving forward to hand the martini to Derek.

Derek tried to ignore the way his body flustered just under the way Stiles looked at him with adoration. “Why?”

“Your power is different than the others’ abilities,” Stiles explained. “More … Pure. Closer to Angels than other Nephilim. You have higher concentration of healing blood running through your veins as well.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed, not completely understanding what Stiles meant.

“Because you're a virgin,” Cora answered as she stood outside the door.

Derek’s ears burned red as he awkwardly shuffled on his feet. He stared down at the rag he was using to clean Stiles’ couch from blood.

Stiles shot a soft glare at Cora as he waved his fingers at the door, slamming it in Cora’s face.

“It's a choice,” Derek quickly stated. “It's not that I don't have … Offers.”

“It is a choice,” Stiles affirmed. “I didn't mean for Cora or anyone else to say anything. It wasn't my intention to embarrass you.”

“I’m not, I just …” Derek sighed, grumbling to himself as he thought about how he was going to pay Cora back for interfering on purpose. “I don't understand why everyone is being so secretive about everything.” His eyebrows furrowed when Stiles smiled to himself as he looked down into his glass. “Are you always this coy?”

Stiles laughed. “Not always. Just when someone interests me.”

“ _I_ interest _you_?” Derek asked in disbelief.

“Let me spell it out for you,” Stiles started, turning to look at Derek. He looked down at the tumbler in his hand, peering up at Derek through his eyelashes. “I … _wanted_ to see you again, and not just because I needed your strength to save John’s life.”

Derek drew in a calming breath, his eyes tracing the moles decorating Stiles’ face. “But … why?” He asked in complete uncertainty, not understanding why someone like Stiles would want to see him again.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stiles asked, holding his glass against his chest. “For more than a century ... I’ve closed myself off,” he explained, his eyes flickering over to the book of love poems sitting on one of the book shelves. “I had a relationship that wasn’t what I thought it was, and it didn’t end well for me. It ended poorly, and I decided to swear off dating.” He looked back at Derek, hopeful eyes evaluating him for a sign that he understood what he meant. “There’s something about you, Derek. Something different, and you … excite me.”

Derek was about the speak when his phone started to ring. He almost cursed to himself when Stiles pulled away from him, giving him the space he needed. He sat his drink down as he answered, listening to his mother’s strict words; part of him dreaded returning to the Institute.

“You have to go, I know,” Stiles stated before Derek could explain what his mother wanted. “Talia Hale isn’t a woman to be kept waiting.” He looked at Derek, offering him a small smile. “I hope to see you again soon, Derek.”

Derek nodded, taking a step towards the door before halting. “I could stay for one drink,” he suddenly offered, looking at Stiles. “My mother can wait.”

Stiles’ smile grew, pulling at his lips as he looked up at Derek. He picked up Derek’s previously discarded drink, handing it to him. He moved down to one side of the couch, making room for Derek.

Derek sat down, allowing himself to relax into the couch, turning to look at Stiles. It was nice to take a moment to rest, and to have someone to share it with. He startled when a small furry creature suddenly leapt into his lap.

“Isis,” Stiles chastised, quickly grabbing the cat from trying to make a comfortable resting place in Derek’s lap. “Sorry, she usually does that to my father,” he uttered, moving her to sit on the couch.

Isis meowed, trying to get back over to Derek.

“I don’t mind,” Derek stated, watching as Isis made her way out of Stiles’ grip. “I’m just not used to pets.”

“I discovered that, over the years, a way to cure loneliness is with pets,” Stiles explained, allowing Isis to rub her head against Derek’s outstretched hand.

Derek smiled as Isis purred in appreciation. He released a small laugh when she moved to climb up into his lap, pressing against his chest as her whole body vibrated. “She seems to like me,” Derek sheepishly stated.

“I can’t blame her,” Stiles fondly commented, smiling at he looked at Derek.

Derek looked up, catching the way Stiles was looking at him. He was about to say something when he felt four tiny paws suddenly jump up onto his shoulder. “Um … ” He kept still, allowing what he assumed and hoped to be another cat balance on his shoulder.

“Hecate,” Stiles angrily growled under his breath, grabbing hold of the cat and hugging her against his chest. “I’m sorry, they usually don’t climb all over people,” he apologized. “They usually hate everyone besides my dad and Erica.”

“That’s okay,” Derek replied, looking down at Isis.

Isis had a blue and green eye, the difference evident when looking at her head on. Her fur several different shades of cedar brown, short and soft to the touch.

Hecate’s fur was inky black, her body almost blending in with the couch as she curled along Stiles’ side. She looked at Derek, her eyes a deep solid orange as she stared at him. She eyed him suspiciously, as if she couldn’t make up her mind about him. She looked utterly unimpressed by Isis’ display of affection towards Derek, turning her head to meow at Stiles.

“They seem pretty protective of you,” Derek commented.

“They get attached after a few decades,” Stiles answered.

“Decades?” Derek arched his eyebrow.

Stiles laughed. “Warlock cats are different than normal cats,” he explained.

“You’re teasing me,” Derek said, scrunching his nose.

“No, seriously,” Stiles stated. “They’re Downworlder cats. They live a lot longer than normal cats. They just get called ‘Warlock cats’ because we’re nerds and like to be cliches.”

“So … they’re ‘Witch cats’?” Derek asked, almost shy to utter it.

“Yeah, when you say it like that, it sounds as lame as it is,” Stiles replied with a soft laugh.

“But they live longer than normal cats, right?” Derek asked as he looked down at where his fingers were moving through Isis’ fur.

“Depending on the warlock,” Stiles offered. “They become connected to us and our magic, forming a bond of sorts. They don’t live as long as warlocks, but that’s usually what happens when you have immortality.”

Derek looked up at Stiles, hearing the melancholy in his voice. He watched the way Stiles focused on petting Hecate. Deep down, he knew it was a pointless infatuation with Stiles. Even if he did accept being with him—if his family accepted him being with Stiles—it wouldn’t last. He would age as Stiles stayed the same. He would just be another person to leave Stiles behind, and in the end, that felt worse than never trying.

~*~

Derek held his arm against his chest, watching as Stiles stood beside Samuel. He was angry with himself for not dispatching the Forsaken sooner. He put the entire Institute at risk, and now his father was the one taking control of the Institute, calling upon Stiles to place protection around them. He watched the way Stiles cast ward after ward, a simple flick of his wrist covering the main doors. He ran his thumb against the surprisingly rough gauze of his bandage. His healing rune wasn’t working, the cut still bleeding as a throb ran through his muscles. His eyes remained on Stiles even after his father left.

Stiles turned to look at Derek with a fond smile. “May I?” He asked, outstretching a hand in gesture towards Derek’s bandaged arm.

“It’s fine,” Derek roughly answered, pulling away from Stiles’ reach.

Stiles’ smile faltered briefly, his eyes flickering over Derek for a hint of what he did to make Derek pull away. “A Forsaken wound often needs a little Warlock TLC,” he playfully uttered.

“It’s okay,” Derek loudly stated, taking a step away from Stiles. “I said I’m fine.”

Stiles observed the room, noting that no one was paying them any particular attention. He took a small step forward, his voice soft as he spoke. “Derek, If anything were to happen to you, I’d never—”

“Stiles!” Derek snapped, turning to look at him with a heated look. It wasn’t the time or place—he couldn’t do this, not here. “Thank you,” he backpedaled. “Thank you, but I don’t need your help.”

Hurt flickered over Stiles’ features, his brows knitting together as he bitterly bit down on his lip. “Well, if you won’t let me look at it, you should let Erica,” he dryly informed him. He nodded to himself, looking away from Derek. “Now, if you excuse me, I have to go find Lydia—”

“Lydia Martin?” Derek asked, his head perking up to attention.

Stiles narrowed his eyes some, carefully watching Derek. “Yes,” he answered. “She’s in charge of seeing I get payment for my handiwork.” When Derek didn’t make an understanding gesture, Stiles rolled his eyes and gestured towards where he just placed the wards. “I often like to be paid for my work.” He paused, watching the way Derek looked like a ball of clustered nerves. “Have you … seen her?”

“No,” Derek stated. “I haven’t, but if I do, I’ll send her your way.” He lingered before nodding a goodbye to Stiles.

Stiles’ eyes followed Derek as he left him standing by himself. He looked down at his fingertips, still feeling the way Derek’s skin heated up under his touch. He hadn’t felt a reaction like that in centuries—his magic thrumming through his veins as it called out to him to follow after Derek. He felt the way his magic willingly fell away, prepared to evaporate—to give way to his mundane blood if it meant Derek wouldn’t recoil from him as if he was an untamed animal. Stiles knew that in Derek’s world, he would never be seen as anything more than an Downworlder.

~*~

“Why was Derek acting like a kicked puppy?” Erica questioned as she turned the corner to start walking with Stiles down the hallway.

“Did you take care of his wound?” Stiles asked, his mind having been preoccupied by it since he saw the bandage.

“As best I could, but you know I’m not the best at Forsaken wounds,” Erica answered. “Why didn’t you just do it? I’m still your apprentice.”

“He wouldn’t let me,” Stiles curtly explained, knowing that lying to Erica got him nowhere in the last few centuries.

“He told _you_ ‘no’?” Erica questioned in disbelief.

“He all but leaped away from me,” Stiles softly stated.

“You should talk to him,” Erica offered. “Actually get a professional’s look at the wound, too while you’re at it.”

That was how Stiles ended up outside Derek’s door. He raised his hand to knock, his hand freezing when he realized that he didn’t know what to say. He danced his hand across the door, forming a stronger protection ward to be swallowed up by the wood. He sighed, moving to walk away when the door opened.

“Stiles?” Derek questioned as he pulled his leather jacket onto his shoulders.

“Just checking the last of my wards,” Stiles quickly stated, forcing a smile onto his lips.

Derek nodded, looking at the wall by his door. His sight was focused with intent to find something.

“I didn’t curse your door, if that’s what you think,” Stiles stated.

“Of course not,” Derek answered.

“I just thought … I thought I’d see how you were doing,” Stiles explained, gesturing his hand towards Derek’s injured arm. “Erica said she tended your arm but was worried about it.”

“She did a great job,” Derek answered, still conscious of the minor discomfort he felt as the wound slowly healed itself—the infection gone, thanks to Erica.

“Good,” Stiles answered with a smile. He silently walked beside Derek down the hallway until he nearly stumbled into the leather clad wall of Derek’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I wanted to thank you,” Derek stated. “For everything. Especially the … ‘follow your heart’ advice.”

Stiles allowed himself the small smile blooming across his lips. “I always had a knack for the human psyche—not that I technically am one, as Freud always liked to remind me.”

Derek pushed down the fondness he felt filling up his chest.

“It helped me figure out what to do,” Derek explained. “Marriage.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, his breath sputtering. “Um, wow, that’s a giant leap. I was going to suggest dinner—but I suppose along the way—”

“I asked Lydia to marry me,” Derek quickly explained.

Stiles’ playful nature suddenly disappeared, bewilderment befalling him. “Oh,” his voice cracked from his throat before followed by a more solid, “Oh. That’s … interesting.”

“Family means everything to me,” Derek started, looking away from Stiles as he collected his words, pretending that he didn’t see the hurt pulling at Stiles’ face. “And Lydia is a smart match.”

“No, I get it,” Stiles nodded, taking a step back from Derek in order to give him more space. He felt too big in the hallway, as if attention he wasn’t meant to have was suddenly dumped on him. “You’re from a conservative, _closeted_ , culture. You’re a … _traditional_ guy.”

“I am,” Derek confirmed.

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, releasing a soft laugh as he shook his head. “Okay,” he nodded. “Congratulations,” he started as he looked up at Derek. “I’m sure your family will be very happy. After all, marriage is a … _wonderful_ institution.” He looked away from Derek as he solemnly mumbled, “Not that I’d ever know.”

Derek swallowed the lump in his throat, his chest feeling closed off and constricted as he watched someone as gorgeously confident as Stiles suddenly flicker and fade.

Stiles looked up at Derek, his magic burning his tears away before they could form as he silently nodded in acceptance. “Goodbye, Derek Hale,” he stated with finality, turning to leave him behind in the hallway.

~*~

“You want me to defend Cora?” Stiles asked, arching an eyebrow.

Boyd and Erica had already approached Stiles for his help, begging him to defend Cora against the Clave and Lydia’s investigation. They were desperate, wanting to protect Cora from her friendship with Boyd—from the Clave’s prejudice against Downworlders. Cora had saved a life, and they wanted to punish her for it.

“Cora asked me to ask you,” Derek countered as he paced by the endless bookshelves.

“So you came here for Cora,” Stiles started, moving to put his back towards Derek as he took a generous gulp of his drink. “No other reason?” He turned to look at Derek, his confident smile hiding his fear.

“Cora’s my little sister,” Derek stated as he faced Stiles. “I’ll do anything for her.”

“Anything, huh?” Stiles thoughtfully echoed.

“If convicted, she’ll be stripped of her runes,” Derek explained. “She’ll be cast out to live among the mundane, and it will take the demons less than 24 hours to find her. She’ll be defenseless.”

“So, your delightful little bride-to-be puts your sister on the Shadowhunter version of deathrow, and your first instinct is to come running to me,” Stiles answered. He released a bitter scoff at the thought.

“Stiles,” Derek called his name, hoping that he’d find the kindness in him to accept his request. “Our family, our careers … it’s all riding on this.”

“I’ll do it,” Stiles stated as he stared at the book of poems Heather had given him when she broke his heart. “I’ll do it, for a price.”

“Anything. Name it,” Derek jumped at the chance to get Stiles to agree.

“You,” Stiles answered as he looked at him.

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed in contention.

“You said anything,” Stiles explained as he took the few steps necessary to close in on Derek. He was impressed that Derek kept his ground, his gaze unwavering. “Or did you already give yourself up in payment for another debt? You know, one you pay for family.” He paused in front of Derek. “I’m sure what I’m asking for payment is much simpler.”

Derek arched his eyebrows in challenge.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Stiles stated, a small but fond smile pulling at his lips at hearing Derek’s faint laugh. “I simply want you to start living your life for you.”

Derek’s features darkened. “Name something else,” he grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Your bow and quiver,” Stiles firmly stated, as if he had his mind set on the weapon the entire time.

Derek frowned, slowly nodding in acceptance. “Okay. Only if you help Cora.”

Stiles sighed, having hoped that Derek would have said no. He nodded, turning away from Derek. “I’ll come see her tonight,” he stated, setting his wine glass on the table. “Is that all?”

Derek hesitated, wanting to say more. He hated how their conversation ended the other day. He looked at Stiles, noticing how rigid and closed off he looked compared to when they first met. He wanted to talk to him about his reasons why—the reasons he needed to marry Lydia and leave his own desires behind. For his family, Lydia was better than he could hope for—her stature and ambitions would elevate both of their families.

“That’s all,” Derek stated in finality.

~*~

Derek picked up his bow and quiver, suddenly realizing that they were heavier than he usually believed them to be. They were his first weapon, a gift from Allison when they officially formed their parabatai bond. He couldn’t count the times they saved his and her lives, whether he was wielding them, or he switched off weapons with Allison. Giving them up was like giving up a limb—he could already feel their loss. He took one last glance at them before handing them to Stiles. “As promised,” he stated.

Stiles stared at Derek, slowly reaching out to take the bow and quiver. He noticed how rigid and displeased Derek looked at someone else holding his beloved weapons. He slid the quiver’s strap onto his shoulder, carefully holding the bow as he waited for Derek to say something.

“Thank you,” Derek stated. “For defending Cora.”

Stiles silently nodded, knowing that Derek was going to leave it at that. He turned his back to Derek, fully intending on allowing them to part in silence. He paused, releasing a dejected sigh before he turned to face Derek once more.

“Lydia’s great,” Stiles uttered, the words burning his throat. “She’s fierce, intelligent—gorgeous.” He frowned, shaking his head as he cleared his throat. It was stupid, being this upset over a relationship that hadn’t even happened.

“Then you get it,” Derek stated, a sickening churn of his stomach almost hoping Stiles wouldn’t give in.

“No,” Stiles sharply argued. “No, I don’t get it, and I probably never will. I get _her_ , Derek. I understand her ambitions and desire to never risk love again after having her heart broken.” He stared at Derek, refusing to look away. “Marrying you makes sense to her because she knows she’ll never love you. Just like it makes sense to you.” His eyebrows knitted together in anger at Derek’s silence. “You’re afraid of accepting who you are, and know that she’s a safe investment.”

“She’s what I want,” Derek answered.

Stiles released a bitter laugh. “Right. Of course she is. I really do hope you’re happy, Derek. I have to say, I envy you and your carefully calculated plans to avoid living. Heartbreak is one of the nastiest things to happen to an individual.” He looked away from Derek, blinking his tears away. “I’m glad to know that you’ll never feel it.” He walked away, hating how heavy the bow and quiver felt the farther away from Derek he got.

~*~

“You know better than that, Stiles,” Erica snapped as she sat down in the armchair. “Even a greenhorn knows better than to exhaust themselves multiple days in a row. You barely recovered from saving your dad’s life”

“I had to, Erica,” Stiles answered, sitting up on the couch.

“Had to do what?” Erica demanded.

“I had to finish enchanting the bow and quiver,” Stiles weakly stated.

“You always were a sentimental old fool.”

“He saved my life,” Stiles countered. “It’s a thank you, nothing more.”

Erica was silent as she watched Stiles. She let Stiles ignore her. She turned and went over the book shelf where she knew the book of love poems stayed, collecting dust. She tossed it over to Stiles, allowing it to drop into his lap. “You’ve _always_ been a sentimental old fool.”

Stiles ran his fingertips over the leather binding, his eyes scanning the book’s cover. “I didn’t ask for you to comment,” he answered, rising from the couch, dropping the book onto the coffee table. He rolled his eyes at Erica as she plopped down on the couch, perching her heels up on the table, next to the book.

“How many times have you tripped over yourself for a lovely face?” Erica asked, her eyes looking from the book to Stiles.

Stiles ignored Erica, his steps slowing as he turned to look at the bow resting on his workbench. He cast almost every protection charm he could on it, making it a stronger and faster shot than any other bow he came across. He drew the intricate runes on it himself, wanting it to match the ones he saw adorning Derek’s body. He didn’t have a use for Derek’s bow and quiver, merely taking them in order to make them better. He had hoped he could give them to him as a first date gift, but instead it had become a wedding gift. He didn’t even realize he had exerted himself until he was awoken from his unconscious state by Erica.

“You closed yourself off for a long time, Stiles. Much longer than you should have— and now you’re afraid of what could happen if you are wrong about Derek,” Erica started.

“No, I understand how things work now,” Stiles replied. “Derek was right, we think of marriage as two different things. I think of it as a sacred bond—one meant to be shared between two people who love each other; a bond not meant to be tainted by familial expectations.”

“That’s easy for us to say, our families are dead,” Erica sighed. “And even if they weren’t, they’d never pressure us into doing something like that.”

“But Derek’s family doesn’t care if he offers himself up as a sacrifice,” Stiles replied, materializing a drink in his hand. He pressed the glass to his lips, drinking down the strong liquid as he tried to ignore the way his heart hurt.

“But you do,” Erica slowly stated, moving to sit up. “You love him,” she uttered in amazement.

Stiles turned to look away from Erica.

“After what happened between you and Heather …” Erica sighed, shaking her head. She stood up, moving to get closer to Stiles. “You closed yourself off for good, Stiles. You built a series of gorgeously disguised walls around your heart to pretend that you don’t care. You’re so afraid of being hurt again that you hide behind your flirtations and your magic, but you’re terrified of losing him now that he’s come along—a person you think you could love.”

“I never had him,” Stiles replied.

“Then _fight_ for him,” Erica earnestly answered. “Risk letting that love in, and keep fighting for it.” She sighed, moving to pass Stiles. “I’m going to the wedding—as Boyd’s plus one. Cora invited you, by the way. Not all Hales are afraid of you showing up and spoiling everything.”

“Take it with you,” Stiles stated as he gestured towards Derek’s bow.

Erica looked at the bow before looking back at Stiles. “Give it to him yourself. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you hide behind me.” She kissed Stiles’ cheek, a sad smile pulling at her red lips. She left Stiles alone with his thoughts, knowing that he would be upset with her for telling Derek to come talk to him.

~*~

“Stiles? Hello? Erica said you needed to speak with me,” Derek stated as he turned around, looking about the empty apartment. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wanted to get everything over with, burying his head until his marriage to Lydia was finalized. He paused when one of Stiles’ cats rubbed up against his leg. He knelt down, picking the cat up in his arms as he turned her over to look at him. “You don’t know where Stiles is, do you, Isis?”

Isis meowed, trying to playfully paw at Derek’s face. Her tail curled around Derek’s arm, purring as she pressed against his chest.

Derek softly smiled when Hecate ran out from the bedroom, coming over to meow and rub against his legs. “Do you, Hecate?”

Hecate purred as she rubbed her head against Derek’s leg, circling around his leg.

“I’m here,” Stiles’ voice came from behind Derek. His chest ached as he watched Isis and Hecate sadly meow when Derek placed Isis back on the ground, standing up. He wished he told Erica to mind her own business. It wasn’t fair to him or Derek to force them to talk about a tired subject. He accepted that Derek made up his mind, he just wished he wasn’t sacrificing his happiness for his family’s.

Derek turned to look at Stiles, not surprised to find him exiting his bedroom.

Stiles had a wine glass in his hands, his silk robe flowing behind him. His robe was open, the translucent material shimmered over his skin, embroidered stars and moons decorating the cascading material. The tank top beneath his robe clung to his body, his lounging pants hanging from his hips, a small strip of skin revealed his navel. He looked at peace, a small comfort to Derek in knowing that Stiles at least looked at ease.

“You know I hate to drink alone,” Stiles offered a playful smile.

“I’m not here to drink,” Derek countered, protectively crossing his arms over his chest.

Stiles’ smile soured a bit, his hands moving to cradle the wine glass in his hands. “I suppose it was foolish of me to think that you would want to share a drink with me.”

Derek watched Stiles, evaluating his moves.

“I have a gift for you,” Stiles offered, looking down at his wine glass. “I had hoped it’d be … ” He bit his lip, not daring to say that he wished it was a first date gift. It was childish, a foolish custom Stiles kept from centuries ago. “A gift for being a friend,” he finally uttered, swishing his hand towards the couch, causing the bow and quiver to appear.

Derek looked at the couch, arching an eyebrow before he moved closer to inspect the weapons. “You’re giving them back?” He questioned, looking back at Stiles.

“I never intended on keeping them,” Stiles replied, taking a long sip of his wine. “I wanted to see how willing you were to help your sister.”

Derek looked back at the bow. He felt the magic the moment his fingertips grazed the bow’s string. “You put magic on it,” he uttered.

“Customized it,” Stiles weakly offered. “I put a few charms and wards on them—for protection and enhanced coordination, that’s all. Allison can still use it, if that’s what you’re worried about. I heard Allison telling Scott a few stories about your fights—I know you sometimes swap weapons in the middle of battle.” He drew in a breath, stopping himself before he started to rant in order to hide the way his heart broke at the sight of Derek accepting the bow and quiver back without knowing the real meaning. Without knowing that he wanted him to be safe—that he worried for him. He told himself it was a stupid attraction and that his magic was just confused. It became a constant mantra in his mind: _Derek Hale is nothing to me_. Without realizing it, the mantra had slowly slipped into: _I am nothing to Derek Hale_.

“Thank you,” Derek uttered, looking back down at the bow. “This means … a lot. I’ve had this since I officially became a Shadowhunter.”

“And you were willing to sacrifice it because of your love for your sister,” Stiles explained. “I asked for it ... ” He took a deep sigh before continuing. “I asked for it as payment because I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget what was important to you.” He wasn’t surprised when Derek refused to look at him. “Being a Shadowhunter is important to you, that bow and quiver are proof enough. But you gave it up because you were being true to yourself and choosing your sister over your career.” He sighed, his chest feeling a bit lighter. “You’re very commendable, Derek.”

Derek’s grip on the bow tightened, wanting to argue against such a compliment.

“The bow and quiver aren’t what I wanted to talk to you about,” Stiles confessed. “It’s about your _arrangement_ with Lydia.”

Derek released a heavy breath, his features pinching into an angered scowl. “I don’t have time for this,” he growled.

“Then when would be a good time for you?” Stiles answered, moving to set his glass down.

“Never,” Derek almost barked, moving to head towards the exit.

“You are going to run away because you know it’s wrong,” Stiles called after him. A part of him was pleased when Derek stopped. “You know marrying Lydia is a mistake, which is why you never want to talk about it.”

“I’m sick of other people thinking they know what’s best for me,” Derek countered as he turned to look at Stiles. “You don’t know me.”

“But I’d like to,” Stiles answered. “I’d like to have a chance.”

“What makes you think I’d want to get to know you?” Derek defensively questioned.

Stiles looked away from Derek, pretending that it didn’t hurt. “If I’m unwelcomed, then I read the signs wrong, and I apologize. But I’m not wrong about you not wanting to marry Lydia. Even if it’s not … _me_ , that you have an interest in.”

“I’m not a child,” Derek stated. “I know what I want.”

“Tell me you love Lydia, and I’ll stop,” Stiles offered. “I’ll back away, and you’ll never have to suffer seeing me again.”

“I … ” Derek’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned his head away from Stiles. “I don’t know. It’s a smart partnership.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. “Partnership. Right. Because that’s what marriage is based on—smart partnership.”

“Look, we understand marriage differently,” Derek stated, his parents’ voices echoing in his head as he recited their speech. “It’s about family, tradition, and honor.”

“Families break. Traditions change,” Stiles answered. “And honor? Where is there honor in joining yourself with someone you feel _nothing_ for.”

“Lydia is a wonderful person,” Derek argued. “I care about her.”

“It’s a _lie_ ,” Stiles answered. “Don’t Shadowhunters believe in love? Tell me you love her and I’ll stop.”

“Fine, I don’t!” Derek snapped. “But it doesn’t change the fact that everything is underway—that I’m marrying her.”

Stiles held back his tears, his eyebrows furrowed. “You’ll both be together but lonely for the rest of your lives. Believe me, I’ve lived the life of standing beside someone and lying to yourself for their benefit. It’s not fair to her or yourself to go through with this … It’s not fair to me,” he reluctantly added, feeling vulnerable under Derek’s eyes.

“Even if I did feel _something_ for you,” Derek started, his glare burning into Stiles. “You want me to give up everything—my entire life—for _you_?”

“I’m asking you to do something for yourself for once,” Stiles argued. “To accept that you are about to marry someone you do not love. Someone who doesn’t take your breath away when they walk in the room. Someone who doesn’t make your heart beat faster by just being near you. Someone who doesn’t stir up excitement in the pit of your stomach.”

Derek hesitated, telling himself to pull back, out of Stiles’ reach. He wanted to push him away, to be the ever obedient son—the respectable son—that his family deserved. But part of him knew Stiles was right: he’d never feel like this about Lydia. He’d never feel like his breath was slipping away, his chest constricting like he was willingly drowning in some unknown body of water. He’d never feel the wonderful anticipation tumbling in his stomach as he waited to catch Stiles looking at him. His skin would never feel like it was on fire just by the simple brush of hands. His heart would never feel like it was about to beat out of his chest.

“I know you don't feel that with her," Stiles earnestly stated, pausing in front of Derek. “But I do feel it with you. And I know a part of you feels the same with me.”

“You don’t know how I feel,” Derek softly answered.

"Don't marry her," Stiles uttered in a soft voice, his breath tickling over Derek's lips, both of them close enough to kiss. His eyes held Derek’s, never wanting him to look away.

Derek’s hands stopped Stiles from pushing in—from pressing their lips together. “I’m getting married tomorrow,” he gruffly answered, pushing himself away from Stiles, releasing his hold on him. He moved to turn his back on Stiles, making it easier to pull away from him. “Lydia accepted me, and I accepted her.”

“Then ... you better get going,” Stiles’ voice was raw and on edge as he forced himself to speak.

When Derek turned around to look at him, Stiles was gone.

~*~

Stiles was lounging across the couch, his eyes glued to the grandfather clock ticking away the time until Derek and Lydia would be married. He ignored the way Isis and Hecate meowed in concern, both of them rubbing their faces into his back in an attempt to get him to rouse from his somber mood. He knew the Sheriff was present when both the cats jumped down from their spots on his back to head for the door.

“Oh, kiddo,” the Sheriff’s concerned voice stated from the doorway. “Don’t tell me you’re moping.”

“Moping would imply that there is something I have a right to be sad about,” Stiles argued, moving to sit up. He grabbed one of the pillows, pulling it up against his chest as he looked at his father.

The Sheriff was in a suit, no doubt ready to go to the wedding. He moved to sit next to Stiles on the couch. “You know, you could try talking to him.”

“I have,” Stiles bitterly stated. “He doesn’t want to hear it.”

“Did you try telling him how you felt instead of telling him how he should feel?” The Sheriff questioned.

Stiles remained silent, his eyes moving to look at the book of love poems Erica had thrown in his face earlier that morning. “I told him I feel something for him—something I’d like to explore. But he … he didn’t want to admit that he feels something.”

“Then that’s his choice,” the Sheriff offered. “If he wants to go through with this, it’s his choice.”

“He’s doing it because of his mother,” Stiles grumbled.

“Can you blame him?” The Sheriff asked as he leaned against his knees. “For some, a parent’s approval means everything—even you know that.”

Stiles frowned, remembering the disgust and abuse his parents inflicted when discovering that he was a warlock. He remembered the way his father blamed him for his mother’s suicide—he remembered the way he felt like his heart was breaking when his father turned his back on him. It wasn’t until he found the Sheriff and Claudia that he had a sense of family. He had stayed by Claudia’s bedside, pulling her through the worse of her illness and easing her pain as best he could. He had been so afraid that the Sheriff would hate him—blame him—for Claudia’s death. But instead, the Sheriff unceremoniously adopted Stiles into his life.

“I just want him to be happy,” Stiles explained.

“You can only make him as happy as he’s willing to be,” the Sheriff replied. “And maybe, to Derek, if he makes his family happy, that makes him happy.”

Stiles nodded in acceptance. “I know that. It just … it still hurts.”

“I know, kiddo,” the Sheriff answered, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ shoulders as he pulled him into a hug. “Sometimes, all you can do is let people know you’re there for them.”

“I don’t think he’d appreciate me being there,” Stiles honestly replied.

“You’d be surprised,” the Sheriff answered as he tucked Stiles’ head under his chin. “Getting married is a frightful thing, even when you’re excited for it to happen. Having people there to support you, well, that’s the entire point of a wedding.”

Stiles sighed, pressing his forehead against his father’s shoulder. “Yeah. I just don’t know about this.”

The Sheriff gently patted his back, accepting his answer. He released Stiles from his hold, moving to stand when he saw the book of love poems he knew Heather had given him. He looked at Stiles, not wanting to press him more than he already felt. “Don’t let past regrets change how you act now,” he commented.

Stiles stared at the book, knowing that his father was right. He let the Sheriff leave without another word, his eyes still lingering on the book. He watched as Hecate jumped up onto the coffee table, her eyes watching Stiles. He startled when she knocked over his wine glass, spilling wine all over the book.

“Hecate!” Stiles cursed, grabbing the book up and out of the wine. He grumbled under his breath as Hecate easily made her way across the table, not caring about the wine staining her paws before gracefully jumping onto the floor. He held the book out, airing it as best he could. He caught sight of delicate handwriting on the inside of one page. He paused his movements, using his other hand to slip the book open to the handwriting.

Stiles’ eyes dashed across the page, taking in the words. His chest constricted, memories of a few lifetimes ago flooding back to him. He felt the tears staining his cheeks before he realized he was crying. He looked down at Hecate and Isis, both cats meowing at him. He offered them a faint smile before rushing out of the apartment, changing his clothes with a flare of magic. He left the book behind, thoughts of the wine staining the pages being forgotten in favor of a love confession.

~*~

Stiles’ feet were heavy as he made quick steps up to the cathedral. He yanked open the doors, his mind racing as he slipped by. He started to fix his jacket, running his hands along the material to smooth out any folds. He rounded the corner with purpose, his eyes catching sight of the petals littering the floor. His footsteps halted when he looked up to lock eyes with Derek.

Lydia was holding Derek’s hand, the rune pen poised to start drawing on Derek’s wrist. Understanding befell Lydia’s features as she looked from Stiles to Derek. She had seen the way Stiles looked wounded earlier when having to see Derek stand beside her. She had seen the way Derek looked after Stiles when he left, eyes lingering on him.

Derek was frozen to his spot as he watched Stiles standing by the doors leading to the cathedral’s exit. He couldn’t breathe, his breath caught in his throat as he noticed his mother rise from her seat, hurrying down the aisle and towards Stiles with purpose. His eyes were glued to Stiles, staring at him in wonderment, regretting that he was too far away to hear what his mother was saying to Stiles.

“Stiles, leave this wedding now,” Talia started as she reached Stiles.

Stiles placed his hand up to ease Talia’s words. “Talia, with respect, this is between me and your son,” he stated, his eyes still on Derek as he took a few steps forward, surpassing Talia. “I’ll leave if he asks me to.”

Talia looked up at Derek, waiting for him to choose.

Stiles kept his eyes on Derek, afraid that if he looked away that he’d lose his connection.

“Derek,” Lydia softly called his name.

Derek took a deep breath, forcing himself to look away from Stiles, to look at Lydia. He struggled to regain his breath. “I … I can’t breathe,” he admitted in wonderment, knowing that Stiles was right.

“I know,” Lydia replied, an understanding smile pulling at her lips. “I know. And it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Derek stated. “I can’t … I can’t do this, Lydia.”

“And it’s okay,” Lydia countered. “It’s okay that we can’t.”

Derek shook his head, looking down at where Lydia’s hand still held the rune pen. “I’m sorry.”

“Derek,” Lydia reached a hand up, forcing him to look at her. “It’s _okay_. You deserve to be happy,” she stated as she cupped his cheek in her hand. “Don’t do this for me—do what’s right for you. I’ll be fine.”

Derek nodded, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss against Lydia’s cheek.

“Go,” Lydia stated with a fond smile. She took a step back when Derek turned to look back at Stiles.

Stiles drew in a deep breath when Derek turned towards him. His knees were weak, waiting to collapse under the adrenaline. His hands trembled with magic as he waited for Derek to make a decision.

Derek held Stiles’ gaze as he stepped down from the alter. His chest felt lighter, his heart pounding in his chest as he thought of Stiles’ words—his encouragement to live for himself. And for once, Derek was okay with choosing himself.

A sharp pain split through Stiles’ heart as Derek continued to look at him, a determination falling over his face. For the first time, Stiles was uncertain of the future—the next few seconds deciding how it would all end, or begin. With every step Derek took, Stiles’ heart hammered against his chest. He thought of the way he watched, for centuries, mundanes and Shadowhunters—even Downworlders—play the political game of matchmaker. It was a practiced dance of politics that had people scrambling for power and connections. He thought of how he tried to play their game once and was burned beyond repair—how foolish he felt for falling in love.

A creature to live for eternity without the shackles of love to weigh him down.

That was what Heather called him. Until Derek, Stiles had believed her. He saw love as shackles meant to weigh a person down, not as the wings he wanted to give Derek.

Talia moved passed Stiles, an attempt to intercept Derek.

Stiles kept his eyes on Derek, waiting for his inevitable dismissal. It was too much to ask of Derek—too much to hope that he’d choose himself, let alone choose Stiles.

“Derek, what are you—”

“Stop,” Derek commanded, passing by her without taking his eyes off Stiles.

Stiles hopefully looked at Derek, his hands itching to grab him—to hold him in a tight embrace. He feared the worst when Derek grabbed the lapels of his jacket. He thought Derek was going to physically remove him from his presence. He was surprised when Derek pressed their lips together, kissing him.

Derek’s fists tightened around the material of Stiles’ lapels. His knuckles twisted white as he tried to hold onto Stiles as an anchor. His world was spinning, completely dizzying him as he moved his lips against Stiles’.

Stiles opened his mouth to Derek, his lips moving in harmony with Derek’s. He tried not to smile into the kiss, his heart bursting with joy. He enjoyed the way Derek’s beard tickled his face, a reminder of who it was kissing him with such intensity and devotion. He pushed into Derek, his lips chasing their kiss when Derek leaned his head back.

Derek opened his eyes, refusing to release his hold on Stiles for fear of someone getting in between them. He looked at Stiles, taking in his appearance—the vulnerability in his eyes as he looked at Derek in question.

Stiles looked back at Derek, a thousand words racing through his mind as he thought of what to say. He happily leaned his head into Derek’s open palm cupping his cheek. He let his fears go as he smiled up at Derek, his doubtful thoughts being put to rest as they kissed once more.

Derek slipped his hand into Stiles’, their kiss breaking as they pressed their foreheads together. “I want you,” he whispered against Stiles’ lips. “All this time, I—”

“Me too,” Stiles uttered, wanting Derek to know that he didn’t have to explain himself.

Derek hesitantly looked back at his parents and the Clave, seeing the looks of shock and repulsion—most of it directed towards Stiles. He held onto Stiles’ hand, not caring anymore as he looked back at Stiles. He nodded towards the cathedral’s exit, a silent question asking Stiles if he wanted to leave.

Stiles smiled. “If you want to,” he answered.

Derek moved towards the door, comforted by the weight of Stiles’ hand in his. Neither knew what was going to happen, but right now, they both needed each other. They both knew tomorrow would have repercussions, but tonight was theirs.

~*~

_Stiles,_

_I know you won’t want to read this, but I couldn’t leave things the way they were. I’m sorry, nothing will ever change how sorry I am for this. But you don’t look at me the way he does—I don’t think you ever have. I can’t accept to marry you. I can’t be with someone I know will out grow me._

_I cherish you—your kindness, your humor, your loyalty and strength. Every part of you is unique, and there is someone out there that is ready to accept every part of you—the good and the bad. I asked you once, what you were willing to risk for us, and you said you’d protect us from any risk. I think that was the moment I knew we weren’t meant to be._

_Love doesn’t mean that you are willing to traverse the world for the other. It doesn’t mean you’re willing to fight anyone that gets in your way. It means you’re scared that losing that love, or facing rejection, will be the end of you. It means that despite that fear, you’re willing to take that leap of faith without knowing the other person will catch you._

_I told you that it was a blessing to live eternity without the shackles of love weighing you down. I was wrong, Stiles. Love isn’t shackles that weigh you down. It’s a pair of wings that you gift another person, even if you aren’t sure they’ll come back to you._

_You’re a wonderful person, Stiles, and I know you’ll find them—eternity is on your side. And I know you won’t believe me when I say that someone out there will come along and break down those walls I could never see passed. And when they do, fight for them—fight for the two of you. Because you will regret it for eternity if you don’t. Fight for them by taking that leap, and being there for them. Let them know that you’re ready._

_I love you, Stiles. For the rest of my life, I will always love you. But find that person who you love for your eternity—the person you’ll love long after their lifetime ends._

_Goodbye, Stiles._

_Heather_

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write! It may take a while for me to answer them, so I apologize for that ahead of time.


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